Updated: Jan 21, 2020
Stretching from the scientific notions that have neutralized our credence in mental autonomy, to the innumerable religions demanding one’s fidelity on the promise of a more gratifying existence after oblivion, life is congested with peculiarities that we are often too naïve to address and thoroughly examine. Comically, perhaps the utmost confusing conundrum of all is the sheer feelings which most of us claim, often belligerently, to comprehend and appreciate, and at that throne rests what is perhaps the least fathomed emotion of all: Love.
Where else would an invading alien find humans fascinating, passionate, tender and candid as opposed to bloodthirsty, egocentric, avaricious and rapacious ignoramuses than in our tales of love? It’s one of the few conditions that stimulate our appreciation of one another, notwithstanding one’s race, faith or colour. In it, women become sweethearts instead of sexual vehicles in the eyes of men, and men slightly more alluring than utter disappointments in the eyes of women. Yet, its also in love that the same sweetheart is remarked as an absolute whore should the association cease to be. Simply put, to love another is a curious thing.
Love, contrary to a commoner’s belief, is a robustly spontaneous and fortuitous spectacle that doesn’t adhere to any laws. It is an emotion that is seldom driven by choice. Instead, it chooses for us. Pardon the subsequent daring hypothesis: I presume the majority of my readers, all fifteen of them, have dated, are dating or are “shooting their shot” in the nearing days, and many of them will divulge to have had been performing a random task such as navigating their final few thoughts of the day before a night’s sleep, watching a striking scene from a movie, browsing the lines of a romantic novel or even driving soundly during a tranquil night when suddenly their mind is hijacked by a chaotically adventitious image. Hundreds, if not thousands of thoughts spill across our consciousness mercilessly and ferociously. The moment is too overwhelming, but we can sense it, we are falling somewhere and are tormented by ambiguous illustrations of a face, one we wouldn’t otherwise ponder so critically. Finally, a boom! Before long we finally realize it, we have fallen in love with a particular someone and suddenly, unbeknown to them, they are responsible for our radical moods, odd urges and even shampoo shoppings. Many would contend that such a sentiment would necessitate a vaster timeframe to mature. However, since not even science has a claim on what the objective description of love is, an argument that it begins the moment our hearts skip a beat before the sight of a special someone, could be proposed and honestly defended.
The fable often erupts when we, with absolute confidence, declare a stranger as a crush of ours—remark the glamour of their short-straight hair, get lost in their brown eyes, memorize their catch-phrases and obsess over the way their hands shake as they burst into laughter. As soon as our mates learn of the revelation, they abandon their boring identities and transform into endowed couple-counsellors eager to mesmerize us with strategic tactics and top-notch advices that would ensure us victorious in the forthcoming conquest of winning our desired heart. I respect my pals, but seldom would their wisdom earn my lips an intimate appointment with the pair of a lady. Instead, they would ensure me a long night attempting to convince, possibly the entire staff of a mental institution, that I am a sane citizen and shouldn’t be locked away. Luckily, usually succeeding a brutishly long journey of doubts, holdbacks, dramatic encounters and uncountable sleepless nights, we at-last are given permission to hold our crushes hands and firmly, even loudly, saying the magic words: I LOVE YOU.
A few moments could be more memorable than finally being recognized and deemed worthy by a darling of choice. Alas, life isn’t kind, and while the moment is endlessly prestigious, its quickly poisoned by cheating, lying, and malevolence that evince the imperfections of a soul we pondered to be so complete. I can recall a moment of such, it befell a friend of mine as he was lounging comfortably in bed, he could still vividly recall the charm of her naked skin as it pressed against his, a scene he had fervently fantasized about many times before. He swiftly creased her hair and motioned to regain assurance of her devotion by spelling the magical words of commitment, loyalty and adoration. Yet, instead of a passionate reprieve from self-doubt, the air in the room abruptly grew colder, their closeness became expired as inches of awkwardness filled the space, and their eyes turned vigorously sharper. The lady had simply failed to reciprocate the feeling.
A fatal scar was forever painted near her name in his mind. So, whenever her name is summoned, he is constantly reminded by the love he gave, the same love she denied. My mate spent a considerable chunk of his days calculating an immaculate plan that could allow him to withdraw his former, honest emotional announcement of love. In his final day of the vacation with her, across a cold Subway Table, he sought to execute his strategy, but his lady was smart, far smarter than the mere words he drew in his head, and far sharper than the reality he created and believed. She saw through the performance, and its there where his first lie was exposed and their connection crumbled. Prior to their unfortunate downfall, the couple had once exchanged a promise of lists. The girl was fond of romantic films and the boy of reading books. The two had agreed to hand monthly lists to one another of the girl’s most recommended movies and the boy’s favourite books, they had thought, albeit naively, that such an exchange would further solidify what they ardently possessed for one another. Yet, their distance only grew with each sunset, and after a few more inconveniences of both sides, the relationship that wrapped itself for three years around the label of friendship, the jealousy of each party seeing different people and the arduousness of living in different nations, the link perished and from the lovers that promised to conquer the world for one another to complete strangers. Alas, rarely is love a serendipitous event.
Traditionally, our pride is love’s first contender, for the romantic link to be securely established, we are forced to relinquish our sense of egotism and yearn for our lovers unburdened by the constant noises inside our minds. The custom is a rational one, it makes sense for our love lives to be naked of the disturbances that are majorly caused by our smugness and arrogance. Irrefutably that is no easy feat, and it’s concurringly here where most of us combat and are usually slaughtered against the shrewdest of our inner demons. Yet, pride is never the factual enemy; it’s instead our willingness to overcome it. Who of us is optimistically assent with letting another dictate the life we spent years building? Whom of us is ready to forfeit an adequate night sleep, risk the goodness of their mood, and fear their feelings were misplaced should their partner forget to add “baby” in the notorious “good night, baby.”
I have wasted a chunk of your hour telling you about a man whom you will perhaps never possibly meet, of a story that can be entirely fictional, all so that I may press the inquiry of why? Why did such a cute couple fall out of love? Did they genuinely fall out of love? And lastly, what’s next? Hence the series of articles to come. Although the literature on the matters of our love life is extensive, I have found a few to be functionally helpful for myself. But also, this is not me recommending the bullshit to follow to be adapted blindly into your life. Afterall, what follows is love from the perspective of myself through stories I have lived or witnessed happen to my fellow pals. Each article will formulate around a story, a question and a possible answer by 22-year-old who possess nothing more than what you already own, aside from an acute passion on the matter, a few empty hours and an endless desire to write.
The Conundrums of Existence is a series of articles attempting to keenly navigate the norms of many notions. We kickstarted the series with one of the most irritating, albeit interesting topics to date: Love. Four more articles have been prepared to follow the preceded introduction with the second topic in the series remaining unchosen and is to be decided by Hamza Masaeed. If you would like to be added to the mailing list click me.
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